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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244396">True Colours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrayedknot/pseuds/afrayedknot'>afrayedknot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Magic, BAMF Andrew Minyard, BAMF Neil Josten, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Demisexual Neil Josten, Drug Use, Magic, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:34:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrayedknot/pseuds/afrayedknot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a magic, magic, magic, magic world.</p><p>Andrew Minyard is particularly talented but his magic and identity have long been darkened by violence, among other things. Neil Josten doesn't know who he is anymore, and his constantly changing names and colours suggest nothing different. Aaron Minyard has been tainted a tepid green by drugs. Kevin Day and Jean Moreau are stained by the blood, blood red of Riko Moriyama.</p><p>Join our favorite faces as they find their footing and figure out who the fuck they are.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Minyard &amp; Andrew Minyard, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Andrew Minyard &amp; Renee Walker, Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day &amp; Andrew Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Seth Gordon/Allison Reynolds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Silver Knives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>German, Irish, English, a very little bit of Japanese. </p>
<p>It was fitting, he supposed, that the mandatory test had revealed a genetic history steeped in magic. Every nationality had some magic; it was a simple fact of life. Nearly as simple as the years of racism and intervention and war that had diluted, twisted, and refined the cultural traits. History textbooks regaled, in particular, the German, English, and Japanese. Their legends and stories, well documented and steeped in blatant nationalism, had become the model used to indoctrinate children in beliefs about magic. The use of the British spelling “Colour” to represent the shades of magic and corresponding identity was just another example of this. Such indoctrination had much to do with Colonialism and Imperialism and other nasty by-products of the Western superiority complex. </p>
<p>This was all rather ironic, because the most magically talented tended to be of Native American, African, Middle Eastern, Irish or Indian descent. Several studies had accredited this tendency to things like oral tradition as well as familial bonds and a communal awareness of spirit and magic. The idea was that, in these communities, magic and a connection to nature had been demonstrated and taught to children from a young age, in juxtaposition to the historical narratives and carefully constructed narratives taught in the more “exemplary” cultures. </p>
<p>Which brought Andrew back to the ever boring present. Sitting in an office within an office. </p>
<p>Fittingly ironic, he laughed to himself, that his genes indicated a clean, stereotypical magical competency that he did not express. Childhood environment must truly be the root of magical development because the silvery scars hidden under his black armbands matched his even darker brand of magic. His fingernails, long stained a murky grey from reaching through the mists of time and space, matched the streaks in his blond hair and the color of his eyes, which had once been a soft, clean hazel. </p>
<p>The doctor examining him wore a stupid, stereotypical, clean white coat that matched her stupid, stereotypical lavender eyes. She was clearly disturbed by the physical reminders of his rotten magic, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. She wasn’t even noteworthy enough for the colour of her soul to express itself in her hair.</p>
<p>“Any alternate forms?” she clipped. Clinical and professional.</p>
<p>“Nope.” He popped the P, sickeningly cheerful as always on the goddamn drugs. “None, what-so-ever”</p>
<p>“Forgive my disbelief but people of your age with your genetic magical competency and your clear markers of magic usage-” He sighed rather dramatically. There it was again- “typically have at least one alter that typically matches that of a genetically close family member.”</p>
<p>“I was a foster brat.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I didn't mean-”</p>
<p>“You didn’t think. It’s clearly there in your nice little file. But since you’re too sheltered to figure it out, I’ll explain it to you.” He stood up and stepped closer. She stepped back. “Foster children as a sad little population group have a statistically low number of alternate forms. I’d say it’s because children who, a, have no close genetic family to speak of and, b, face rather high rates of abuse and depression cannot, for some strange reason, conceive of a better version of themselves.” He  sat back down and smiled, wide and manic. “You can’t create some nice, magical representation of your identity if you hate yourself.”</p>
<p>She gulped and handed him a folder. “That concludes your magical examination,” she stammered. “As a student athlete, you also have a physical examination that will be carried out by your team's nurse. I'm required to remind you that practicing magic is regulated by campus rules and that any magic that is not permitted as well as any unregistered weapons, magical or otherwise, will be handled by local law enforcement.”</p>
<p>Palmetto foxes, here he came.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> when you are not fed love on a silver spoon you learn to lick it off of knives </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> - Lauren Eden, australian writer</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey guys</p><p>so, first fic. let me know what you think</p><p>this is a magic au and i'm working out all the magic stuff myself and kinda using this fic to test a magical universe i've been rolling around in my head. let me know if there's anything you would like to see / think i should clarify / have questions about</p><p>right now it's Andrew centric, but i'm planning to include POV from at least Neil, Kevin, and Jean. maybe some Renee. i'm also  planning on giving different types of titles and end quotes for each POV. like, bitter philosophy for Andrew and random history tidbits for Kevin </p><p>again, super new to this so i'll probably be updating sporadically and i have some fun debate stuff right now (yayyy NSDA big questions) BUT i will try to update at least once a week</p><p>i'm on tumblr: afrayedknot<br/>come yell at me about my writing or read my bad poetry!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Abram was dying. </p>
<p>Nathaniel Wesninski was already dead, as were the 22 other identities he had assumed in the past however many years- different names and colours slipping through the wind as they changes cities and countries. And now Abram was left wondering how many shades you could shed before you disappeared entirely.</p>
<p>But that was what they had wanted anyways, to be gone gone gone from the horror show that was their stupid, fucking lives. </p>
<p>It had killed her, in the end. Sometimes there’s only so far that you can run. </p>
<p>And now Nathaniel Wesninski was crawling his way back out of Caleb’s throat and vomiting himself onto his ash covered sneakers. It was curious, he observed, paralyzed, the way the blood and ash and vomit mixed with the sand to create an ambiguous, grey mush nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the wet sand around him. The rain pounded down on the desolate North California beach, putting out some of the smaller remnant fires. One stroke of good luck, far too little and far too late. </p>
<p>Burning the body had been a bad idea in retrospect. He should have disposed of her in a discrete way; hidden her away in the sea. But he couldn’t peel her bloody body from the seat of the car. He had known that she was gone as soon as he had finished reciting his promises to her. No need to comb through her hair or check her eyes. Not that it would have done any good. Neither of them had been themselves for years. So he left her body glued to the seat of their getaway car, grabbed their respective bags, and doused the car with gasoline.</p>
<p>It went up faster than he had expected and the sparks singed his shirt, adding holes to the already threadbare rags. Although the huge bonfire should have drawn attention, no one was around to see it. </p>
<p>But enough was enough. He burned their old IDs in one of the last flames and stood up, adding soft orange to his eyes and brown to his hair. Unremarkable and untalented. He would bury Nathaniel and Abram in a backpack in the sand with his mother’s bones and run until Abram’s soul ran out and the colours were finally gone. Maybe he would be safe when he died.</p>
<p>Neil Abram Josten, he thought to himself, slipping the new IDs into his pocket.</p>
<p>Don’t stop running, don’t look back. Never stay anywhere for too long and never be noticeable enough to remember. He could follow the trail his mother had mapped and find something to pass the time with until his borrowed life ran out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>over the years, i've given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>- Steve Prefontaine, holder of seven world records</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tiny little chapter today</p>
<p>i've been working on some dialogue for the next few chapters so hopefully i'll update soon.</p>
<p>thank you all so much for reading, especially for those of you who left kudos and comments. it's been super inspiring and i'm so grateful</p>
<p>also, i decided what Neil's quotes will be! they're from famous athletes<br/>and Jean's will be quotes from sad Taylor Swift songs. fight me</p>
<p> </p>
<p>anywayyys: </p>
<p>tumblr: afrayedknot<br/>feel free to ask questions or read my terrible poetry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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